Losing Grip
by DreamShadows
Summary: Sam’s been off for weeks, and Dean’s a little slow on the uptake. Post LDC. Written for Summer of Sam Love fic exchange '09.


Title: Losing Grip  
Author: Obuletfury302/DreamShadows  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: Spoilers till the end of season three, and there may be a few swears here and there. (This is Dean!)  
Disclaimer: I own nothing! Not the show, not the prompt… Guh, not even the pretty, pretty boys!  
Recipient: Geminigrl11  
Word Count: 2775  
Author's Note: This fic here, has been a shining point through a summer of witnessing 60+ hours a week… Gem, I hope you enjoy! Thanks to **sendintheclowns** for her wonderful beta work!!!  
Prompt: A Long Distance Call tag where Dean witnesses Sam's grief for Dad (beyond what we saw on the show) and realizes much Sam loved him. This could also maybe re-address some of the things Sam went through in IMTOD.  
Summary: Sam's been off for weeks, and Dean's a little slow on the uptake. Post LDC.

XXXX

_Are you aware of what you make me feel, baby?_

_Right now I feel invisible to you,_

_Like I'm not real._

_Didn't you feel me lock my arms around you?_

_Why'd you turn away?_

XXXXX

Sam had been acting different for the past few weeks. Every move he missed in sparring, every shot gone wide during a hunt had been spiking on Dean's radar.

He had been letting it go, thinking Sam was just in one of his emo moods, moods that had been happening more and more often since Dean had made the deal to bring him back. He had thought that if he just let Sam deal with it; let it pass; that everything would go back to normal, or as normal as it could be with Dean's deal approaching its due date.

Then Sam had fumbled on a routine _salt and burn_.

That was the last straw.

It was time for Dean to _talk _to Sam, to find out what exactly was going on in his little brother's head. Time for him to fix Sammy.

XXXXX

Sam had sensed Dean's eyes following his every move for the past two hours, and it was driving him insane. He knew Dean was worried about him, and how he had been messing up the last few weeks.

The last thing Sam wanted was for Dean to worry, but he just couldn't seem to shake the funk he had been in. Everything had just been on a downhill slide since the telephone company, and Dean getting the call from their "supposed" father.

He couldn't shake the feeling of being a big enough failure, that he couldn't even rate a fake phone call from his dead father.

Sam had always known that his and Dean's fathers had been more partial to Dean. He had been the screw up, the one that had dared to dream and defy a father that had at most times been more like a marine drill sergeant than a father.

That wasn't to say that Sam didn't try in his own way to impress his father, his techniques had just never worked. He supposed that if he had just trained without complaint like Dean had, rather than questioning his father, they would have gotten along better. That just wasn't the way his mind worked, and Sam had been hoping that his father would realize that and accept it one day.

Yeah, and pigs would fly, and evil things didn't live in the dark. All possibilities that didn't have a chance in hell to come true.

So they had fought.

But Sam still thought that his father loved him the same that he loved Dean, even if he wasn't the favorite son. _Obviously _that _wasn't _the case.

XXXX

Sam had been sulking for the past two and a half hours, while Dean had watched him like a hawk. Since the screw up the night before, Dean had been determined not to let anything Sam did slip past him.

The younger man looked like he would rather be anywhere, doing _anything_, rather than to be in that motel room doing research. Then again these days, Sam never looked interested in doing much of anything, with the exception of looking for a way to get Dean out of his deal.

But then again, Dean didn't want him interested in researching the deal, Sam's life in the balance if he found a way to break it.

Dean blew out a breath softly and reached up to scrub a hand over his face. Running the hand through his hair, he looked back over to Sam, and stood.

"Sam," he said, dropping his arms to his sides, and walking toward the chair he had thrown his jacket over the night before. Sam never looked up, too caught up in his thoughts to have even heard his name called. Sucking in a breath, Dean forced himself not to scream at the man.

Crossing the room, Dean flicked his brother's ear and when Sam looked up, jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. "C'mon," he said, turning around, and heading for the door. "We're going out for a while." Without waiting for Sam to respond, and swiped the keys off the small table and walked out the door.

It took a minute of sitting in the car, CCR blaring through the speakers, before he saw the lights in the room turn off, and Sam walk through the door. A moment later, he slid into the passenger seat without question, and Dean sighed before putting the car in reverse, and pulled out into traffic.

He didn't know exactly where he was going, just that he needed to do something about Sam.

He would know the right place when he got there.

XXXX

Okay, so maybe a bar wasn't the best place to bring a hurting sibling. _But_, it was the first place that Dean saw that had an opportunity for him to help Sam.

Get little brother a beer, get him into a game of pool, all the while subtly push him into talking.

_Perfect_ _game plan._

Now if it would just work, Dean would be that much closer to helping Sam.

XXXX

"Ah, Dean?" Sam asked uneasily as they pulled into the dimly lit, dirt parking lot of _'Up and Gone.'_ Dean looked at him, wordlessly asking him to continue, "Why are we here?" Sam finished lamely.

To tell the truth he had a feeling that Dean was probably just looking to get drunk, or to hook up, and didn't want to leave little Sammy unattended, but he wasn't about to voice _that_ opinion.

"Because," Dean said with a quick twitch of lips, "it's time for us to have a 'brother night'" Dean started, and when he saw the small smile on Sam's face, he quickly added, "but if you turn this into a 'chick flick' night, I will kick your ass!"

Sam just grinned.

XXXX

Walking into the bar, Sam's demeanor was less enthusiastic. There was no easy smile, and he seemed to hunch into himself, almost as if to hide from the rest of the people in the bar. All three of them.

Dean frowned, but made no comment on the unusual behavior, just continued to lead the way to the bar. Sam followed wordlessly, taking the empty seat beside Dean with an uneasy glance around them.

"What can I get yah?" A voice asked. Dean looked up to see the curly haired bar tender looking at them both intently. Studying her, Dean saw the well meaning intent in the tired pair of eyes that met his, and the not so subtle concerned glance at Sam.

"Two Blues," Dean answered with a lopsided grin.

"Draft or bottle?" She asked, already moving toward the other side of the bar.

"Draft." She nodded, and Dean turned his attention back to Sam. The younger man had drawn back into himself, looking for all the world like all he wanted to do was leave, and Dean sighed.

All he had wanted to do tonight was to spend time with Sam, to try and get to the bottom of what had been bothering him. To try and fix whatever it was that he had found out, and get Sam back to normal.

He needed to make sure Sam was okay before he left him on his own.

Now he wasn't so sure that this plan was going to work, but he did _have_ a plan.

XXXX

Three beers later and Dean was still no closer to finding out what exactly was going on with his brother. Usually after two drinks, Sam was babbling like an idiot, chick flick moments abounding. But tonight the younger man _had_ to be just the opposite.

Sam seemed to grow more subdued with each additional drink.

Dean was beyond frustrated.

Groaning to himself, he looked back at where Sam had planted himself in the corner of the room. He had been sitting in the darkened corner for the last hour and a half, nothing Dean said changed his mind to get him out into the open.

Sam had stayed at the pool table for the first hour, but once he figured out that Dean was trying to get him to talk, he had retreated into himself. The usually open man doing a complete one eighty and pulling a 'Dean', the no chick flick rule firmly in effect.

Hoping that if he just picked the right topic, or caught Sam off his guard, his brother would open up, Dean grabbed his cup and started to head back to Sam. Changing his mind at the last second, he turned back to the bartender and asked for a bottle of vodka and a deck of cards.

When the woman handed both things to him a moment later, he once again turned and headed back to his brother. Seeming to sense his presence, Sam looked up, his forehead creased in confusion at seeing the look of complete determination on Dean's face.

Deer in the headlight's look followed soon after the confusion, and Dean had to suppress a groan, knowing that he had been caught in the act. He knew he had to completely change his plan of action, wondering if he would just have to push and needle until Sam caved.

XXXX

'Uh, oh.' Sam thought, seeing the look on Dean's face as he walked back toward him. Sam knew the older man was just trying to help, but when Sam didn't want to talk…

_He didn't want to talk._

The determination seemed to instill itself deeper into Dean's eyes the closer he got to Sam, and the younger man felt his eyes widen.

The last time he had seen that look on Dean's face had been after Jess had died.

_Older brother was on a mission, sights set on Sam. _

XXXX

"C'mon Sam, let's play a game," Dean said, holding a deck of cards between his middle and index fingers. He grabbed the chair opposite Sam and turned it so that he was straddling it.

Putting the bottle on the table, along with the shot glasses he had grabbed, he pulled the deck of cards from their box, and started shuffling them. "Poker?" Sam asked after a minute, seeming to have regained at least some of his composure.

"Bullshit." Dean answered simply, carefully watching the change in Sam's face as he recognized the game from the few times Dean had wanted to get him to talk. Swallowing hard, he nodded, vowing to himself that he would try his hardest not to talk, not wanting to bother Dean with his problems.

_Knowing_ that Dean would probably get his way despite that vow.

XXXX

Four rounds in, and Sam had taken two shots, having been caught by Dean both times he tried to fake the older man out. They had cut out half the deck right at the beginning after shuffling thoroughly, knowing it would be a pretty stupid game with just two players otherwise.

Dean himself was currently shot-less, having been playing mostly truthfully, not wanting to be the one who was drunk and babbling. Tonight was about Sam, and getting to the bottom of what had been going on with him for the past few weeks.

So far his plan seemed to be working, but Sam was still keeping quiet, even though his intake of alcohol was significantly more than it usually was. Dean could see the younger man starting to crack though, he just wondered how many times he would have to call the younger man's bluff before he finally gave in, and told Dean just what was going on in his mind.

XXXX

"Bullshit," Dean called as Sam supposedly placed down three fours. He knew the younger man was lying; the tick in his cheek giving him away. Sam was a good liar, but Dean had practically raised the younger man, and knew almost everything about him, including his tells.

Sam raised his eyebrow, and looked over at Dean, wondering just how the older man knew when he was lying every time. Shrugging he reached for the shot glass in front of him with a groan.

He threw the shot back with a grimace, and slammed the glass back down to the table. "Yah know," he said after a minute, still trying to get the taste out of his mouth, "ushally you get use ta alcohol the more yah drink, but wiz vodka, it's like it jus' gets stronger." He reached for Dean's beer, and took a drink, trying to push the taste out.

Dean laughed, pushing his own shot towards Sam, and grabbing the empty glass from in front of his brother. He poured another shot, and looked back up at Sam. The younger man was swaying, and had been slurring since the first shot. If Dean really looked, he could also see the younger man's defenses dropping, exactly what he had been trying to accomplish with this impromptu trip to the bar.

"Yeah well, if you were a better card player, you wouldn't have to keep tasting the nasty shit." Dean said with a grin, reaching to pull three cards from his own hand.

"If I was a better son, I wouldn't be here." Sam slurred in a mumble back. Dean heard the answer though, and looked up at Sam. _Here we go, _he thought, putting his hand down on the table.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked sincerely, making sure that Sam knew he wasn't mad, that he just wanted to know what was going on with the younger man.

"It meansss," Sam started, waving his hands, cards falling all over, "tha' if I had been a bedder son, I woulda never leff, I woulda never quessioned dad, and everyfing would be differen." Sam reached down, and threw back the shot in front of his with a flourish, waving the glass around, his eyes wide as he pushed back his chair.

"Sam-" Dean started, only to be cut off by a distraught Sam.

"If I ha' done wha' what he wanted, he mighta wanted me as a ssson, and we woulda been togethe' and he wouldn'a died." Sam dropped the glass on the last word, and looked down at the broken fragments on the dirty floor, transfixed on the shattered remains. "He mighta loved me." He finished in a broken whisper.

Dean stared at his brother, wondering just how he had missed something this big. How he had missed Sam breaking apart right in front of him.

He scrubbed a well calloused hand over his face and stood. Walking over to Sam's side of the table, he pushed some of the broken glass out of the way with his boot, and knelt down in front of his brother.

"Sam," he started, putting a hand on the man's shoulder, waiting until he looked at Dean before continuing; "Dad loved you." He said forcefully, looking into Sam's eyes hoping the younger man believed him.

"Then why didn't I get a call?" He asked softly, searching Dean's face for an answer, _any_ answer that would make things better.

Dean's heart dropped. _That's_ what had been bothering Sam. Thinking about it, he mentally kicked himself for not noticing that had been when Sam had started acting strange, when he had withdrawn.

"Sam," he said softly, squeezing his shoulder when Sam dropped his eyes. "That _thing_ wasn't dad," when Sam opened his mouth to argue Dean shook his head, putting his other hand on Sam's chest, shaking him a little. "No Sam, it _wasn't _dad. The only reason that thing called me was because it knew I was too blinded to see past anything but the fact that Dad was calling. It knew it was the best way to get to me." Sam shook his head, grabbing Dean's wrists.

"It was my faul' though. He wouldn' be dea' if it wasn't for me. If I jus lissened." He shook his head then looked back at Dean, "It's my fault Dean." He whispered.

Dean shook his head and tugged Sam into a hug, uncaring of the rest of the people in the bar around them. "It's not your fault little brother, none of it is." He told Sam softly as he felt the first hitch of breath. "Dad loved you, was _so_ proud of you, and everything you had done."

Sam sniffled and burrowed deeper into Dean's hold. Dean just held him tighter.

XXXX

When it was all over and done with, both brothers were in better spirits; though Sam was decidedly hung over; and Sam looked at Dean the next morning as they walked to the car. "Thanks." He said softly, sincerely.

"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome _Samantha_." Dean said with a smile.

Sam shook his head, and laughed, "It's Sam you jerk."

Fin.


End file.
